


The Maiden With Half A Foot

by chasingredrabbits



Category: Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Ableism Mention, Cinderella - Freeform, Fairy Tale Endings, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Physical Disability, alternate POV, fairy tale, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingredrabbits/pseuds/chasingredrabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flash fiction. How one maiden copes in a world of doves, princes, and happy endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Maiden With Half A Foot

That’s a nightingale singing, you know. At least, I think it’s a nightingale. They’re supposed to have a beautiful song. Father—Mother’s first husband, not the second—was always better at telling that sort of nonsense. Did him some good before the hunting accident.

I can’t see much of anything anymore. Yes, yes, I know you can tell, the bandages and such. Don’t do much good, but I suppose they make my face less unsightly. Damn doves. Did you know that birds of peace can rip out your eyes in the time it takes to say “hello”?

Hand me my cane, will you?

The last thing I saw: white wings coming close, getting pitch-dark like shadows across the old bedroom when I was a girl. Mother and Addie still cry over it, the licking Addie and I got from those cursed little doves. Then again, Addie’s always sobbing over something. I don’t think I’ve cried since the morning our fates changed.

I had my ball dress burned. I wouldn’t be able to see it, only Mother can, but it’s the least bit of happiness to know it’s gone.

I was always the prettiest of the lot, of my true sister and the meager, pitiful one. I was the girl most likely to strike a good match. A lord, a prince. If only the king and queen had conceived more than one son before Her Grace ran off with the royal adviser.

Mother always said the only thing stopping me from reaching my dreams was my feet. Too big. One still is; the other one’s been cleaved down. Half-Foot, the peasants call me. (Addie is “No-Toes.” If only if were as funny to us as it is to them.) Yet another one of Mother’s brilliant schemes. Lucky I didn’t bleed out, and all for one little glass slipper.

What’s that noise? Did anyone patch up the hole in the roof? It’s so cold. The fire must’ve gone out.

Oh, sort through the lentils, will you? Yes, yes, we’ll add it to your pay. Haven’t we always? I’ll even do you a favor and not have Mother dump more into the ashes.

Hm? No, you don’t need to do it now.

As I was saying, I still remember the day, my stepsister’s back as she rode off on that white horse with her arms around the prince’s waist. She didn’t look back, not once. That was, of course, before the doves.

I hope she enjoys her uncomfortable glass slipper; dearly hope she has fun washing the blood off.

Do I wish my sister with her pretty white gown and her pretty prince would come back? I—perhaps. She’d likely have us humiliated further or, worse, show pity. Yet, even today, I hear horses galloping and wonder, wonder if she’s come for a visit. To pity us all, or to gloat. I can’t tell which is worse.

And—now that I think on it, no, good riddance to her.

What? Come closer.

Oh, yes, you may retire after the lentils are gone. Thank you.


End file.
